


Secret Santa

by Parker4131970, RCs Many Posts (Parker4131970)



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gift Giving, I'm Bad At Tagging, Private Thoughts, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-05-15 16:46:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19299754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker4131970/pseuds/Parker4131970, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker4131970/pseuds/RCs%20Many%20Posts
Summary: What starts out as a Secret Santa exchange at the consulate soon develops into an opportunity for Constable Benton Fraser.





	1. December

**Author's Note:**

> I know, it's been a while since I've written any Due South fanfic.

“Turnbull, do you have the names ready to draw for Secret Santa?” Meg asked impatiently.

“Yes, Inspector.” With a flourish he presented his Stetson to her, folded slips of paper at the ready.

 _Please let me choose anyone BUT Fraser_ , she thought as she plucked a slip from the hat.

INSPECTOR THATCHER

She’d chosen her own name.

“Humph. That’s no good,” she declared, showing the slip to the consular staff gathered around the conference table.

“Choose again, Inspector.” Turnbull shoved the hat closer to her face.

“If you insist, though this is a preposterous idea.” She looked around the table again, nervous once more.

TURNBULL

She quickly shoved her new slip of paper into her slacks pocket.

 _Shew! Dodged a bullet there_ , she figured. _Now, as long as Turnbull doesn’t get my name._  She shuddered at the thought of what her junior officer might present her with.

Everyone drew names, a few trading with each other. Meg sipped hot cocoa as she watched. Fraser chose names last, one for himself and one for Diefenbaker. How the deaf wolf came to be included eluded Meg. As Fraser opened the first slip she heard him mutter, “Oh dear,” Quickly, he shoved the names into a pocket, his Mountie Mask stifling any further reaction.

 _Interesting_ , Meg noted, curious who he’d drawn.

****  

Secret Santa gifts had been popping up on people’s desks for two weeks, since the name drawing. Turnbull delighted in trying to guess who had drawn whom. He’d pulled Dief’s name, much to everyone’s relief.

Meg still hadn’t received a gift by the twenty-second, the next to last day before everyone took Christmas holiday.

 _Oh well, perhaps tomorrow,_ she sighed. She still hadn’t figured out who drew her name.

TAP, TAP, TAP,

“Come in,” Meg called, zipping her briefcase.

“Sir, you have a delivery. He insists you sign for it personally,” Turnbull explained.

“Very well.” Meg frowned, following her junior officer to the foyer. She expected a diplomatic pouch or something related to the consulate.

“You Inspector M. Thatcher?” a slack-jawed delivery guy asked, giving Meg the once over.

“Yes,” she answered curtly, grabbing the clipboard he held and scrawling her name at the bottom. Meg exchanged the clipboard for a box wrapped in brown paper, her name and the consulate’s address carefully lettered in black marker.

“No return address, interesting,” she mused, turning away as Turnbull and the delivery guy argued over funny colored money.

After extracting a letter opener from her desk, Meg carefully opened the 12X12X12 inch box, a couple of packing peanuts greeting her.

“Hmm, curiouser and curiouser,” she muttered to herself. Meg scooped the packing peanuts out to reveal an oddly shaped object wrapped in bubble wrap. Clipping the tape, she found a music box. The winding key stuck out on the right. “Moonlight Sonata” by Beethoven began to play when she opened the cherry wood lid. A delicate, porcelain ballerina in a red costume began to twirl in time to the music.

“Beautiful,” Meg breathed, watching the figurine. When it finished she closed the lid and began searching the box for a card or tag identifying the sender. At the bottom of the box lay an envelope, a holly leaf hand drawn on the outside. Meg pulled a thick, cream card out.

 _Merry Christmas, Margaret ~ Secret Santa_ had been hand lettered in calligraphy across the center.

 _A beautiful cared for a beautiful gift,_ Meg thought. She combed through the packaging one more time before setting the cherry wood box on her desk. Carefully, she turned the key to enjoy the music once again. Trilling notes and the motion of the ballerina took her back to the first time she’d seen “The Nutcracker” at the National Arts Centre in Ottawa as an impressionable twelve-year-old. She’d dreamed of being a prima ballerina for months afterward.

 _Who knew that this is my favorite music,_ she pondered. Not even her parents knew of her childhood dream. Those silly, girlish dreams made Meg smile. She left the consulate with Christmas cheer on her lips.

****

**_The Twenty-third …_ **

Meg hung her coat and stowed her briefcase before stepping out into the foyer to Turnbull’s desk. She smoothed the hem of her red suit jacket nervously.  

“Constable Turnbull.” She wet her lower lip.

“Yes, Inspector?” He looked up at her expectantly.

“Do you …” Meg began. How to ask who he suspected as her Secret Santa? The potential for gossip!

“Yes, Inspector?” So guileless and brainless.

“Do you know if the mail has arrived?”

 _Coward,_ she accused herself harshly.

“No, Inspector, it hasn’t,” Turnbull answered. “Should I alert you when the mail does arrive?” he asked, ready to serve.

“No. Thank you, Constable. It will keep.” With a frown, Meg went back to her office.

 _It is beautiful,_ she thought, looking at the music box in the center of her desk.

At the end of the day the consulate staff wished each other Merry Christmas before leaving for the holiday.

****


	2. January

**_January Second …_ **

Fraser stood beside Turnbull at the reception desk when Meg came stomping into the consulate. Her dark eyes flashed as she shed her coat, scarf and knit cap. Both Mounties blinked when they saw her hair, now a slim pixie cut. 

“Good morning, Inspector Thatcher,” Fraser spoke first, recovering his composure more quickly than Turnbull.

“Ha! What’s so good about it!” she glared, daring either man to comment on her haircut. They stared straight ahead as she entered her office.

Nothing had looked right, not her clothes, her make-up or jewelry. The hairstylist had ended up crying before Meg finished with her. That had been on the thirtieth of December.  

Finally, this morning she’d chosen a chocolate brown suit and a black turtleneck with a pearl necklace topped by matching earrings.

Laying on her desk was an envelope just like the one at the bottom of the box her music box had been delivered in. It momentarily distracted her from her haircut difficulties.

_ Interesting,  _ she thought as she opened the envelope. 

Meg savored each word carefully lettered across the card stock.

**_“Belonging” by Eileen Carney Hulme_ **

**_We never really slept,_ **

**_just buried clocks_ **

**_in the sanctuary_ **

**_of night_ **

 

**_every time I moved_ **

**_you moved with me,_ **

**_winged eyelashes_ **

**_on your cheek returns a kiss_ **

 

**_small spaces of silence_ **

**_in between borrowed breaths_ **

**_arms tighten_ **

**_at the whisper of a name_ **

 

**_all the words of the heart_ **

**_the unanswered questions_ **

**_are at this moment_ **

**_blue rolling waves_ **

 

**_tonight our souls rest_ **

**_fragrant in spiritual essence_ **

**_candle-flamed, undamaged_ **

**_utterly belonging._ **

“Beautiful,” Meg murmured. It was the first smile she’d felt since that incompetent hairdresser had practically scalped her.

_ I wish I knew whom to thank, _ she thought. Meg decided to wait and see what would happen. Perhaps her Secret Santa would reveal themselves.

**** 


	3. February

**_February …_ **

Days ticked by until Meg wondered if her Secret Santa had chickened out. Valentine’s Day loomed smack dab in the middle of the little month. She hoped each day to have a gift or a note delivered. By the fourteenth, Meg practically stood over Turnbull’s shoulder, waiting.

On February fifteenth, Meg arrived at work early, partially because she had a lot to do and a little bit to see if she had any deliveries. The foyer table lay bare, as did Turnbull’s desk.

 _Damn,_ she thought with a frown.

“Good morning, Inspector,” Fraser greeted her, Stetson in hand.

“Oh, Hello, Fraser.” She took the cup of coffee he offered on her way down the hall to her office.

 _It was nice while it lasted,_ she told herself.

Meg settled down to a full day’s worth of paperwork. Time seemed to drag along. Neither Fraser nor Turnbull had interrupted and no one called. Any other time such peace and quiet would be welcomed. Instead, Meg felt blue.

TAP, TAP,

“Come in, Fraser,” Meg called, throwing her reading glasses in the drawer quickly. Not even a glance from her handsome constable could pull her out of the doldrums.

“Turnbull and I are ordering lunch. Do you want anything?”  
Meg paused for a moment, contemplating the chicken salad sandwich she’d packed.

“Yes. Something chocolate; sinfully decadent.” She pulled out a twenty to pay for her dessert.

“Understood,” Fraser nodded before Meg dismissed him. She leaned her chin on the heel of her hand as she watched him leave.

 _Chocolate is more dependable anyway,_ she told herself.

****

Fraser closed Inspector Thatcher’s door quietly, a frown creasing his brow. The Inspector _rarely_ ordered lunch and _never_ dessert. Diefenbaker fell in step with the Mountie. He took one look at his human’s brow and yipped.

“I have no idea,” Ben answered. “The Inspector keeps her own counsel.” Dief rolled his eyes as he waited for Ben to adjust his Stetson.

“Yes, I suppose I could have inquired, though I doubt that would have gone over very well.”

 _Too personal,_ Ben thought silently. _That’s why I became her Secret Santa._

***

**_February twenty-eighth …_ **

Meg breezed in on a rare sunny day. A warm gust of heat from the HVAC still felt good.

“You have a delivery this morning, Inspector.” Turnbull gestured to the table adorning the foyer.

With a thank you, she set aside her coat and briefcase in favor of the small box decorated with silver wrapping paper and a scarlet bow. Gently, Meg tugged on the bow, freeing the lid. She laid aside layers of white tissue paper to reveal a leather-bound volume of ee cumming’s poetry, the title in gold lettering across the oxblood cover.

“Wonderful!” Meg marveled, leafing through the gold edged pages. Halfway through the book lay an impossibly thin, metal bookmark, a maple leaf stamped in the center.

 _How did they know,_ she wondered again as she searched the box for a note. At the bottom lay now familiar card stock. Secret Santa and a page number crossed the paper in carefully lettered calligraphy.

 _Hmm, wonder why they chose this poem,_ she wondered. As she began to read the lines she shuffled to her office.

**"i love you much (most beautiful darling)" ee cummings**

“i love you much (most beautiful darling)

more than anyone on the earth and i

like you better than everything in the sky

—sunlight and singing welcome your coming

although winter may be everywhere

with such a silence and such a darkness

no one can quite begin to guess

(except my life) the true time of year—

and if what calls itself a world should have

the luck to hear such singing (or glimpse such

sunlight as will leap higher than high

through gayer than gayest someone’s heart at your each

nearness) everyone certainly would (my

most beautiful darling) believe in nothing but love”

“I wonder who my secret admirer could be?” Meg whispered to herself, smiling. She sat down at her desk, pulled out a notepad and began listing staff members and who she thought they’d drawn for Secret Santa.

“I couldn’t be.” Meg shook her head. She thought back to their present exchange in December. Everyone had thanked the person who’d given them a gift -- except Meg and Fraser.

_But why would he keep it up after Christmas? Is he trying to say something?_

As she sat at her desk, flummoxed, the phone rang.

“Yes?” she answered automatically.

“Inspector Thatcher,” She’d heard that hedging tone from Fraser all too often.

“What is it this time, Constable?” All warm and fuzzy thoughts of him disappeared. She listened as Fraser explained how he and the American detective had followed a raccoon through the sewer, into a residential neighborhood where they found a would-be burglar trapped in a chimney. His girlfriend hid up a tree, also stuck. Now, somehow, the homeowners were demanding Fraser pay for repairs to their house after Fraser saved the burglar’s life.

 _Only Fraser,_ Meg thought.

“May I speak to Ray, please?” She gritted her teeth to remain calm.

“Vecchio,” he answered.

“What kind of damage are they demanding reparations for, Detective?” She hoped he could give her a clearer impression of events.

“Uh, pretty much the whole chimney collapsed,” he explained calmly.

 _Oh great,_ Meg groaned internally.

“Don’t break out the thumbscrews just yet, Inspector. My instincts tell me something’s fishy.”

“Detective!” Welsh’s voice boomed in the background.

“Gotta go.”

The phone buzzed in Meg’s ear. She set the phone in its cradle before digging in her desk drawer for extra strength Tylenol. Spying the list of Secret Santa matches, she crossed off Fraser and then balled the paper up.

 _Why am I always attracted to difficult men,_ she asked herself. Rank, distance and relationships had all stood in the way in the past, leaving her to choose from low hanging fruit; the Svens of the world.

“Too much to do to worry about it now,” Meg whispered to herself, a little sadness in her voice. She spent the rest of the day itemizing an expense report and confirming future plans with other consulates. There would be time to ponder relationship questions AFTER work.

****


	4. April

**_April …_ **

April swept in on a rainy day, despite the meteorologists’ assurances of sun. April Fools on Chicago. Meg made a mental note to have bright, spring flowers ordered for the foyer. The sedate space needed some color.

At the end of the hall, Meg caught a flash of red serge darting back into Fraser’s office. 

_ What is he hiding? It better not be guests. _

Fuming, she marched into his home/office, her chin held high.

“Good morning, Inspector.” Fraser stood in the center of his office, Stetson in hand. 

“Where are they?” Meg gave him a piercing glare a moment before jerking open the closet. A gust of warm, wood smoke scented air hit her in the face. Two uniforms and an assortment of civilian clothes hung neatly on hangers. Shoving them aside, she found the bare back of the closet, but no unwanted women.

“Where is who, sir?” Fraser asked innocently. She bit her lip as he dug his thumbnail over one brow. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Hudson Bay blanket on Fraser’s cot move.

“Ah ha! Here they are. You know my policy on guests.” Meg knelt and drew back the blanket only to find Diefenbaker lying under the cot, his tail tapping. As she knelt there, looking at the wolf, she felt Fraser drop down beside her.

“The only people here are you, Diefenbaker and myself, sir. Are you expecting guests?” 

Meg looked away from the wolf to Fraser’s blue eyes. Her mind blanked. 

“Guests, but I haven’t freshened up the parlor and the grandfather clock needs dusting.” Turnbull prattled on as Meg and Fraser turned from each other to look at him. 

“No, Constable Turnbull, we are not having guests. I was …” Her explanation died on her lips. 

“I have work to do.” Cheeks pink, she marched out of Fraser’s office, leaving her junior officers so very confused. 

**** 

Ben gently shooed Turnbull back to his duties. The door closed firmly, Ben removed the small box he’d concealed in his Stetson. In his mind’s eye, he saw the gold maple leaf lapel pin he’d bought at a charity auction in March. At roughly the size of a loonie coin, it caught the eye nicely without being ostentatious. Just like Inspector Thatcher. No Meg. Ben had come to think of her -privately- as Meg. 

You’re on thin ice, Dief reminded him in a whine. 

“Absolutely right, thin ice.” Ben slipped the silver wrapped box in his pocket before returning to his morning duties.

**** 

Meg leaned back in her desk chair listening to the music box play. It broke the loneliness during lunch as she ate alone. The music took her back to her youth. Those had been golden days of school, friends, activities and experiences. Meg remembered the first boy she’d ever had a crush on -- Reggie. He’d been handsome, for a nine-year-old, what with his dark, curly hair, gray-blue eyes and a dusting of freckles. She wondered where Reggie ended up. 

_ Guess I’ll never know, _ Meg mused as she took a bite of her baby carrot. Her mind wandered back to earlier, to being nose-to-nose with Fraser. The way he looked at her sometimes sent a tremor of both fear and excitement through her. When the look broke he always seemed a little sadder. 

_ I’ll never know how Fraser truly feels, if he would want me under different circumstances, _ she realized. 

_ Damn this impossible situation, _ she thought hotly. She threw the second half of her carrot into the Ziploc bag and then shoved it all in her lunch cooler. Quickly, she shut the music box lid and pulled her reading glasses from the desk. 

_ Time to get back to reality, _ she told herself. 

The afternoon progressed slowly. Rain and wind only added to Meg’s gloomy mood. Every time Fraser entered her office he fixed her with a pensive, puzzled gaze. Finally, just before five o’clock, Meg had endured enough. She gathered her belongings and headed for her raincoat in the foyer closet. When she met Constable Fraser in the entry he studied her intently.

“Here, Inspector, allow me to assist you.” He took the coat from her hands and held it for her to slip into. As she stood with her back to him Meg felt the collar being folded over for her.

“Thank you kindly, Constable Fraser but I’m fully capable of dressing myself,” she snapped before whirling to face him. Fraser’s gaze slid to the floor as they stood facing each other. 

“My apologies, sir,” he said quietly as he pulled his hands down to his sides.

“It’s been a long day. I should have left before getting this tired. I should apologize to you.” Meg grimaced. 

“I understand, Inspector.” He gave her a quick look, any concern swept behind the Mountie Mask. 

“Good evening, Fraser,” Meg schooled her own features.

Fraser nodded. Cursing herself, Meg left the consulate for the day.

** 

Meg drove home in the pouring rain only stopping for a guilty pleasure - moose tracks ice cream. Thankfully, the grocery lay halfway between her apartment and the consulate. When she dug into her coat pocket for her keys she pulled out a small box wrapped in familiar, silver paper. Overhead light glinted off the metallic wrap as Meg stood at the register. 

“Ma’am, I said that’ll be two dollars and ninety-nine cents.”

Meg’s head shot up. A slim faced guy all of seventeen stood behind the register staring at her.

“Oh, pardon me.” She laid down an American five dollar bill. Shamefaced, she waited for her change. 

“Thank you,” she managed before scurrying to her car.

Meg drove all the way home before stopping to open the small present she’d discovered. She used her car key to slit the paper taped carefully at the bottom. Inside, a small, white box lay a gold, maple leaf pin. 

“Exquisite!” Meg exhaled as she fingered the glittering trinket. She didn’t need the mouse tracks ice cream anymore. Folded inside the lid she found a note.

**_A small reminder of home ~ S.S._ **

“Home,” Meg repeated with a smile. Getting drenched on her way to her apartment ceased to aggravate her much. A warm shower and some celebratory ice cream served to bolster her mood even more. She set the small box on the coffee table as she ate and watched the evening news.

HERO MOUNTIE FACING LITIGATION

A picture of Constable Fraser on sentry duty flashed up on the screen to Lester Holt’s right. Meg let her spoon clang against the side of her bowl. Her eyes glazed over as a field reporter interviewed the Schofields, the homeowners suing Fraser and Vecchio for damages to their house.

“A million dollars! Emotional distress!” she screeched as she threw her arms up in distress. 

RING! RING!

“What!” Meg answered half-way through the second ring. Bowl in hand, she listened as her boss, Superintendent Erickson, began raking her over the coals. 

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir. I will, sir.” She barely finished before the dial tone began buzzing in her ear. Meg wanted to cry and scream at the same time. 

The maple leaf pin sat forgotten on the coffee table as Meg slipped into her shoes and rain coat. Someone - two someones - had an ass chewing coming.

****


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More on the way, soon hopefully. I am still working on this.

**_May …_ **

April showers did indeed give way to May flowers. The Schofields and Mr. Desai, as well as his girlfriend, were arrested for fraud, among a long list of other charges. The lawsuit against Fraser and Ray quietly disappeared and Superintendent Erickson didn’t call back.

Meg wore her maple leaf pin at least once a week. Its simple elegance enhanced any outfit. She enjoyed the compliments she received from others in her diplomatic and social circles.

Meg still hadn’t decided if Fraser were her Secret Santa. If he were, what would that mean for then? There were fewer consequences both personally and professionally if her Secret Santa’s identity remained unknown.

_ A girl can dream, I guess, _ she thought, feeling flattered regardless of who her admirer turned out to be. 

**** 

**_Chicago Community Charity Luncheon …_ **

Various movers and shakers in Chicago’s upper echelon filed into the Blackstone Hotel’s dining hall shortly before the one o’clock working luncheon. Meg found her finance committee members already assembled and trading gossip at a corner table. Gloria, Vincent and Adeline greeted her as Meg slid into the fourth chair at the table.

“Hello, Inspector Thatcher,” Gloria, a thin woman of about seventy spoke first. She toyed with an ancient strand of pearls as she spoke. 

“You’re early,” Vincent observed, not to be overshadowed by the females of his committee. Meg smiled tightly, wary of the thin veneer of charm the personal injury lawyer layered on whenever he met a woman. 

“Waiter, bring over a mimosa, please,” Adeline called. At thirty, the transplanted Oklahoma native moved like a bulldozer among Chicago’s established upper crust at will. Meg found her to be honest and refreshing if a somewhat unlikely ally.

“No, thank you, Adeline. I drove to the luncheon today.” Meg declined, waving the waiter off. 

“What! No handsome Mountie hunk to chauffeur you around? I bet a pretty little thing like you has to beat ‘em off with a stick.” Adeline gestured with a hand clustered with rings adorned in colorful gemstones. 

Meg shook her head, uncomfortable with such a bold compliment. 

“What’s that little pin there?” Adeline set aside her mimosa and leaned in to examine the maple leaf Meg wore. From the corner of her eye, Meg noticed Gloria eyeing the pin as well. 

“That looks like a piece I donated to the Chicago Police Department Children’s Benefit. They had a silent auction. I believe I heard a Mountie won the bidding. Quite appropriate, don’t you think?” Gloria bragged about her charity functions like most people breathed. 

“The officer’s name was Franklin or Fraser, something like that.” She shrugged.

_ It is from Fraser!  _ Meg thought so loudly she wondered if anyone heard her. 

“Well, it is pretty,” Adeline commented before changing the subject. Meg could only smile when the brash woman grinned and winked conspiratorially. 

_ What do I do now? Do I confront Fraser? Do I pretend I still don’t know?  _  A hundred questions crowded Meg’s mind as she only half listened to her three other committee members. The biggest question confronting her, Why? 

Why keep giving her gifts after Christmas? Had Fraser misunderstood the rules of a Secret Santa name exchange? With his North West Territories upbringing, perhaps he had. Meg’s gut instincts disagreed. The book of poetry, the music box, it all seemed like gifts for a romantic interest; a wife or girlfriend. 

Surely he knows he can’t keep this rouse going indefinitely, she reasoned. So many questions but few answers left Meg confused. 

Adeline cupped Meg’s elbow as they exited the dining hall. 

“Did that fine Mountie of yours give you that pin, darlin’? ‘Cause I saw that blush on your face. Whew, was Gloria ever jealous. She like to have swallowed her tongue.” Adeline chuckled as they ambled toward the valet stand. 

“It was a Secret Santa Christmas exchange,” Meg stammered as she handed the attendant her ticket.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, your secret is safe with me.” The other woman grinned again.

Meg felt herself smile vaguely as Adeline finger waved to the young man driving the consulate car. 

_ Hallelujah! _ Meg mentally rejoiced.  

“My, my, ain’t he delicious,” Adeline said through a broad smile. She didn’t hear Meg bid her good afternoon and make her escape. The Inspector had too much to think about to dawdle.

**** 


	6. Late May

**Late May …**

As the month wore on Meg battled with herself over how to broach the Secret Santa subject with Fraser. With knowledge came consequences. She started to speak to him at least twice a day but couldn’t force it out. 

 _I should say something before he gives me another gift,_ she decided. But what? 

“Inspector!” Turnbull’s unnaturally shrill voice pulled her out of her thoughts. 

“Constable Fraser is on the news. Something about a rooster on the el-train tracks.” 

“What’s Fraser gotten into now?” Meg fumed as she followed Turnbull to the foyer.

**** 

I have been with my human, the one called Fraser, for ages now. I saved his life the first time we met. Sometimes he doesn’t have the sense God gave a goose, so I try to save him from himself. He is my chosen packmate after all.

My human has learned over the years though. Once bitten, twice shy, he’s determined not to let a woman break his heart like that Victoria bitch did. Calling her a bitch is an insult to all of canine-kind. She’s closer to cat guano in my opinion. 

Anyway, back to Fraser.

For the last six months, I’d tagged along as he gave Thatcher, the alpha female, presents. Why, I’ll never know. My human’s sire is of the same opinion. He and I have had many conversations about Alpha Thatcher in the seasons since she took over this territory.  

Fraser’s sire, or Dad as he calls the older human, wants to see his whelp happy though so he encourages him. Dad is even less useful than a cat, unfortunately. His most useful asset is that he understands the other humans better than I do -- sometimes.

For instance, last night Dad and I were out in the park after Fraser settled down to sleep at dusk. Dad stopped beneath a street lamp as if he’d hit a glass door. I’ve done that and it hurts something awful. 

“Haha, I don’t know why one of us hasn’t thought of it sooner.” Dad shook his head as he talked to himself. Naturally, I barked. I hate being left out of anything.

“Oh, oh, sorry, I wasn’t thinking. We could arrange for Benton and the Inspector to meet, for them to get this secret admirer business over with.” 

I sat down, waiting for him to continue. Humans like the sound of their own howling. It takes so little to set them off.

“Hmm, one problem, we’ll need Constable Turnbull’s help.” 

I couldn’t stop myself from groaning. Turnbull was only one step out of obedience school.

“I’ve led many a sled team. I can handle Constable Turnbull, but you’re right, he’s not lead harness material.” 

He had that right!

“Do you know when Benton plans to give the Inspector another gift?” Dad turned to me with a gleam in his eye. I’d seen that same look on my human’s face often enough, especially when he’s solving a case. 

I shrugged. I hadn’t paid attention to my human’s howlings about the alpha female. 

“Keep your ear,” he paused, I guess realizing who he was talking to. “Ah, keep your eyes open, anyway.” 

Dad and I strolled back to my territory, he outlining his plan while I sniffed around for the neighbor’s poodle.

**** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I finally broke through my brick wall!


	7. June

**_June …_ **

Meg grumbled as she used the sports section of the _Chicago Sun-Times_ to fan. Early heat didn’t bode well for the summer season. The humidity made Meg yearn for the cooler temps of her homeland. 

Dief lay in the shade of a trash can while Fraser stood sentry duty. The wolf-dog’s tongue lolled as he relaxed. Meg wondered at him being out in the heat, given his thick, fur coat. One thought led to another.

 _I wonder how Fraser wears that wool uniform in the summer,_ Meg pondered as she returned from lunch. She tried to think of a plausible errand to send him on to get him out of the sun. Since she’d unmasked her Secret Santa, the soft spot in her heart for Fraser had expanded. 

Seeing a fresh stack of files on her desk, Meg pushed everything aside - almost. Fifteen minutes later she had Turnbull relieve Fraser, claiming she needed to ask him a question about the el-train rooster incident. Meg even had a heart and pulled Turnbull from sentry duty early. 

****

**_Hours Later …_ **

“Manuel, hello,” Fraser called as he entered the side door of the former factory turned art studio. 

“In here.” A medium-size Hispanic man poked his head out of the office door. He adjusted a newsboy hat over his black, shoulder-length hair. It somewhat tamed the waves. 

“I see you’re ready to finish those bookends. You’re a quick study.” 

Fraser waved the compliment away but let a slight grin pull at the corner of his mouth.

The piece Ben had worked for weeks to design and then assemble lay on a workbench surrounded by tools.

“I’ve never heard of anyone using stained glass to decorate bookends. Man, this is beautiful.” Manuel indicated the rectangular pieces designed to resemble books in descending height from tallest to shortest. In gold lettering, Fraser had given each ‘book’ spine the title of a literary classic. He’d chosen a cobalt blue for _Moby Dick_ , tan for _Robinson Crusoe_ , pale green for _Anne of Green Gables_ , ice blue for _Call of the Wild_ and a passionate rose color for _Pride and Prejudice_.  

“Thank you kindly, Manuel. You’re a good teacher. One last session and it will be ready for delivery.” Ben worried his eyetooth with his tongue as he laid the last piece of delicate, red glass in place. The razor-sharp corner bit into the side of Ben’s right middle finger. 

“Let me get the First-Aid kit.” Manuel hustled toward the office as Ben pulled his hanky out to staunch the blood flow. Dief whined at his feet. 

“Yo, Fraser, that’s deep. I think you need stitches.” Manuel pushed his cap up to scratch his head as he peered down at the steady stream of blood running down Ben’s finger. 

As much as he hated to admit it, Ben agreed. Dief barked and trotted toward the exit. His packmate needed to go to the veterinarian. 

“Let’s go,” Fraser ground out. He clenched his jaw as Manuel placed a clean 4X4 on the cut and then quickly wrapped it in cloth medical tape. 

“Put it over your head to slow the flow down,” Manuel advised, reaching out to take Fraser’s wrist and shoving his arm straight up.

Twenty minutes later, Benton, Manuel and Diefenbaker arrived at Cook County General. They looked into the overflowing waiting room.

“We’ll be lucky to get out of here by noon tomorrow. Is there anyone you want me to call?” Manuel dug around in the pockets of his gray overalls for change.

Ben jerked around to look wildly at the other man. Ray would want to know why the Mountie had been working on stained glass and that might lead to confessing about the Secret Santa situation.

“No, thank you,” he blurted. Inspector Thatcher must never know. He’d been rejected by her once. Never again.

“Wow. Okay, so that’s clear enough.” Manuel shook his head. 

“Would you mind finishing the bookends for me? I’ll pay you for your time and trouble.” Fraser pulled his Stetson off to fish for money.

“No, man. After you rescued Perdita from the el-train, I owe you. It sounds crazy but I love that chicken.” Manuel waved Fraser’s money away.

“I’ll finish the bookends if you’ll let me use your design. Deal?” Manuel offered his hand to shake. 

“You have a deal. Thank you kindly, Manuel.” Ben gave him an awkward, left-handed handshake. 

“Good. I’ll finish them tomorrow.” Manuel gave Ben a friendly slap on the back. Ben assured the man he’d pick them up personally. 

****

 **_Two A.M. …_ ** 

My packmate and I walked into the den late into darkness, or what passes for darkness this far south. The veterinarian visit had been rough on my human. His right forepaw had been bandaged and my human actually allowed the vet to give him medicine. It’s even more difficult to give my human medicine than it is me. The vet didn’t even have to hide it in food! 

I nosed around my kibble and water as my human took off his hat and hiking boots. 

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Diefenbaker.” 

I followed him to his bed and waited for my ear scratches but let Ben off without rubbing my belly. He seemed ready to drop in the harness. I had other business anyway. 

A few hours before real daylight I met Dad at the park. He stood gazing into the wishing well, a fishing line dangling over the side. He dragged up a small, shiny fish a moment later. 

“Too small,” Dad decided before letting it drop back down the well. 

“Do you have news of Benton’s next gift to Thatcher?” 

Now my human and I have a strong connection that allows us to understand each other. It also helps me make myself understood to Dad and a little with the humans called Ray and Turnbull. Still, it took effort for me to inform Dad about the gift at the chicken man’s den. 

“Good. Benton will most likely wrap the bookends tomorrow and deliver them the next.” 

We parted ways soon after. I didn’t want my packmate to miss me and become suspicious. 

****      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is a short chapter better than waiting for a longer one?


	8. June Is A Long Month

**_The Consulate …_ **

My human slept soundly until time for food. When I tried to help him tend his injured paw he shooed me away. I forgave his rudeness, but only after he gave me two strips of bacon. 

The human called Ray gave us a ride to the consulate. Whenever he asked about my human’s paw, Ben changed the subject. My packmate is good at that trick. 

Ray, being smarter than the human Turnbull, eventually coaxed the story out of Ben. I felt the vibration of Ray laughing as we stopped outside the consulate. This seemed to chafe my packmate. For whatever reason, Ben is loyal to the Alpha Female Thatcher. None of us understand why. Her scent says one thing but her body language another, snarling the way she does. My human didn’t look back as Ray left. Sometimes I don’t understand his loyalty to Ray either.

The day passed slowly for my packmate and me. I felt his pain every time he moved his paw wrong. Not wanting to embarrass my human, I didn’t let on and whine. Instead, I dozed under a chair. Just before midday food, I smelled the Alpha Female enter the day den. As usual, my human banged against the desk as he stood. I felt nervous energy buzz in my nose. Hormones filled the air. My human put both paws behind his back, to hide his wound I guess. Curious, I found a convenient spot to watch.

“Constable Fraser, I need your signature on this weeks time card.” She handed something white to my human.

“What have you done now, Constable?” The Alpha Female held the white thing to keep my human’s paw from disappearing. She tilted her head as she stared at the bandaging.

“A cut, sir, very minor.” He let her have the card.

“May I see the cut, Constable?” Her body language reminded me of my mother after a kill when the Omega snuck a prime piece of caribou.

“It’s very minor, sir, hardly worth bandaging, really.” If my human had a tail it would have tickled his toenails.

“We’ll see about that. Let me see your finger, Constable Fraser.” Thatcher took his hand away from his eye where he dug fleas.

“Yes, sir.”

I hadn’t seen the cut myself but Thatcher’s attitude changed from a snarl to something softer. 

“You’ve been to the emergency room. Did they prescribe antibiotics?” Thatcher released his paw but kept a wary eye on my human.

“Yes. The emergency room doctor prescribed a multi-spectrum antibiotic.” 

“Have you filled the prescription?” Sometimes Thatcher has good instincts.

“Ah, no, sir, I haven’t.” My human began talking so hard and fast that I couldn’t follow his mouth. Thatcher put one paw up, her signal to stop barking.

“See that you do, Constable and TAKE the antibiotics. We’re short-staffed enough without you going septic.” 

“Yes, sir.” My packmate nodded as he took the white thing she held and used his left paw to mark it. 

When the Alpha Female turned and walked out I saw my opportunity. Dad and I could put out plan into action. 

“Come, Diefenbaker.” My human called but I ignored him by hurrying out the door and following the human called Turnbull to the food place.

By the time I came back to my human’s usual spot he’d left and I’d eaten a half-pound of leftover roast beef.

“There you are. Benton will be back any minute,” Dad fussed. In response, I gave him a lackadaisical shrug. 

What?! 

Roast beef for pity's sake!

“There you are. Constable Fraser will hear about this.” Turnbull waved a meat fork at me as he walked into my human’s day den. 

“Good work, wolf.” Dad grinned.

Like there was ever any doubt.

**** 

Bob took a deep breath and stepped into Constable Turnbull’s body. It felt heavy and awkward, almost too large to maneuver. 

 _At least there wasn’t any resistance,_ Bob thought. _Ah, this is what it’s like to be taller._

In the background of Turnbull’s mind, he heard “Row, Row, Row Your Boat”. The old Mountie resisted the urge to join in the round. He’d come with a mission in mind.

“Good, here’s the card stock,” Bob mumbled as he rifled through Benton’s footlocker. Next to the card stock lay a fountain pen similar to the one Bob had given Ben as a high school graduation present.

“A crying shame. Benton lost what few mementos he had when the cabin burned.” He shook Turnbull’s head.

WOOF!

“Quite right, we do have a mission.” Bob laid out the fountain pen and card stock. Then he paused; what to write.

WHINE

“Don’t rush me,” Bob said irritably. 

“Let’s see if I remember the phrase correctly. Caroline loved it. You know she thought I’d written it for ages … “

 _You deserve somebody who inspires you toward greater things while loving you exactly as you are._ ~ Mark Anthony.  

“Not my best work but it’ll do.”

WOOF! 

Before Bob could loosen himself from Turnbull’s body Benton walked into the office. 

 _Quick! Act like Turnbull,_ Bob thought. 

“Be - ah, Constable Fraser, you’re back. Bob jerked the fountain pen and card stock behind his back and began crab walking around the desk. 

“Did you need something, Constable Turnbull?” He looked from Turnbull to Dief, who shifted from paw to paw.

“No,” At Fraser’s raised brow Bob elaborated. “Well, not from you, Constable Fraser. I need to speak to, to … to uh, Diefenbaker. Yes, Diefenbaker.” Bob managed to edge all the way around the desk, all the while facing Fraser as he hid the pen and cardstock.

“Turnbull!” Thatcher called back, or screeched if you asked Bob.

“Coming, sir!” he called back, finally turning his back on Fraser. Diefenbaker trotted down the hall behind him. He handed the rolled-up card stock to Dief who very carefully carried it in his jaws. He could be as gentle as any Golden Retriever one minute and as fierce as any other wolf the next, as the situation dictated. 

“Shew! That was close.” Bob shook his head a moment before he pulled out of Turnbull’s body. The junior Mountie stumbled a few steps, face-first into a wall. Bob winced and Dief covered his face with one forepaw as Turnbull rebounded off the wall and fell flat as a board on the hall runner.

“I shouldn’t have stepped away so soon,” Bob repented.

Thatcher and Fraser both stuck their head out of their offices to find the source of the loud banging. 

“Oh dear,” Fraser muttered. He rushed to the young man’s side to check for damage. 

“Constable Turnbull, can’t you watch where you’re going?” Thatcher chastised him as she stood with her hands on her hips, staring down at him. Turnbull blinked a few times before sitting up with Fraser’s help. He reached up to check his nose.

“My apologies, sir. I don’t remember how I got here, or why I’m here, specifically.” A thoughtful frown creased his brow as he allowed Fraser to help him to his feet. 

“Humph. I wonder why you’re here every day,” Thatcher sighed. “Report to my office after Fraser’s had a look at you.” She turned her back and walked into her office. 

Bob and Dief watched the whole scene in silence. The wolf-dog followed him into the kitchen where they stowed the cardstock in a bottom cabinet until they could switch it with the one Benton had yet to write. 

“Even in death, I haven’t lost a step.” Bob puffed out his chest as he and Dief walked back to Fraser’s office for an afternoon nap.

***


	9. June Is A VERY Long Month.

**_After Work …_ **

My human and I left the day den before evening food. He’d been eyeing me all afternoon, since the human, Turnbull’s, incident with the wall. Dad had retreated to his den while I napped. Whatever my human suspected he kept it to himself. 

Along the way from the day den to the chicken man’s den, my human and I stopped by a shop I wasn’t allowed to go into. That was fine by me, it smelled of too many flowers. I stayed outside and nosed around, just to check out who’d been in the area lately. My human walked out just as I finished leaving my calling card. 

“Manuel, hello,” my human called into the huge den. The smell of chicken and metal overwhelmed my usually discerning nose. I resisted the urge to sniff around. I needed to see what the present looked like that my human planned to give the Alpha Female Thatcher. 

“Yo, Fraser. How’s your finger?” From their body language, I knew this man was a friend to my packmate. Humans show friendship differently to wolves and dogs. There’s no butt sniffing or territory marking so it’s a bit hard to decipher what’s going on at a glance. My human actually smiled, baring teeth, which is a sign of aggression in my world but means almost the exact opposite in the human world. Go figure. 

“The bookends are over here. I set the last piece of stained glass, smoothed the rough edges and they’re done.” Manuel gestured a paw toward something over my head and eye line. 

“Thank you kindly, Manuel. I very much appreciate your help with them.” My human pulled long and blurry out of the bag he’d carried from the flowery shop. I watched intently as he also pulled out a box similar to the ones Krispy Kreme donuts come in. I saw the box but my nose didn’t pick up the drool-worthy scent of donuts. I just had to see what was in that box so I reared up on my hind legs, my front paws on the edge of the table. 

No Krispy Kreme, only the blurry stuff and an empty box. 

“I had a client come by earlier and pick up a window, she offered me two hundred dollars for these. Are you sure you don’t want to sell these and make another set?” My packmate didn’t even stop to sniff the offer, he refused it. 

“No, thank you, Manuel. These are for someone special.” I felt some of the same sweet-smelling energy coming from my packmate as when he encountered the Alpha Female. Yep, these were definitely the present he intended for her. Dad and I would be finished with this fox-like deception soon, which suited me fine. The human, Turnbull’s eyes looked like a raccoon after he walked into the wall and he wore a bandage over his snout. 

“Ah, thought I’d ask.” Manuel shrugged. “I’ll definitely use your design, though, with credit to you.” The chicken man patted my human on the shoulder before we left. I looked forward to seeing how Dad pulled the cardstock switch off. 

**** 

**_That Night …_ **

Ben lay awake long after he’d settled into his bed. He stared at the ceiling thinking of the bookends he’d designed and crafted especially for Inspector Thatcher. Calling her that in his head always came harder in the dark, intimate hours. Ben wondered if he’d see her smile about the bookends like she had about the other gifts. 

If only she’d turn that smile toward me instead, he lamented silently. He’d seen her wear the maple leaf pin at least once a week and the music box sat on the desk next to the book of poetry. Meg kept the notes tucked into the book of poetry as mementos. 

I wish I could sign my own name, just once, Ben thought with a sigh. And if wishes were horses beggars would ride, he heard his grandmother chide him in his head. 

“Insufferable regulations,” he grumbled, turning onto his back once more. All he had were a few smiles and some near misses. Ben ran his hands down his face before turning over and trying to get some sleep. Four o’clock came early. 

****

**_The Next Day …_ **

I felt the vibration of my human’s bed as he tossed and turned half the darkness. Still, he got up and we ate. It didn’t take perfect ears to see that whatever kept him awake still bothered him. To make him feel better I made a grab for his sausage links. That didn’t work either. 

After morning food my human and I walked to his day den. He walked in by the back door carrying the present for the Alpha Female Thatcher. Along with the present he’d brought whatever he’d bought from the flowery smelling store. I don’t understand how humans stand such unnatural, choking scents. It’s a difference in species thing I guess. 

Anyway, Dad appeared from his den not long after my packmate and I arrived. I saw the gleam in his light eyes when he looked at me. I winked in acknowledgment. It was time to undertake the plan we’d made. My packmate carefully wrapped the present and set it out for the Alpha Female Thatcher to find. 

“Hello, son. How are you this morning?” 

“Good morning, Dad. You’re certainly up and at ‘em early this morning.” My human paused. 

“If I weren’t dead we could have coffee together, father and son.” Neither human spoke. It was too little, too late now. 

“Constable Fraser, good morning. Would you like some cherry strudel?” The human called Turnbull interrupted the silence. 

“Yes, thank you, Constable Turnbull.” I began whining, wanting a bite. I’m a sucker for his baking. 

“There’s fresh coffee in the kitchen if you’d like some, or I can make some bark tea.” Turnbull offered. 

“Thank you, Constable Turnbull, coffee is fine, thank you kindly.” My human stood up. I couldn’t help myself, I began dancing around from paw to paw. 

From the way the humans turned to look out the door someone had called one of them. My human started toward the door, the human called Turnbull a step behind. Dad caught my eye and held a paw over his mouth, a signal for me not to make a sound or bark. Quickly, he caught up to Turnbull and stepped into his body. 

“I’ve learned a few tricks on the other side,” Dad said through Turnbull. I watched as he searched through my packmate’s belongings for the note. 

“Turnbull, are you coming?” my human leaned into the room as Dad folded the note and hid it behind his back. 

 “On my way, Be- ah, Constable Fraser.” Dad turned and gave a wink. The switch was on. My packmate gave Dad, in Turnbull’s body, a suspicious look but didn’t say anything. 

After a rather large helping of strudel, I waited as Dad switched the notes. This time when he let loose of the human called Turnbull’s body he sat him down at his usual place in the day den so he wouldn’t get hurt. Dad and I sat back and waited for our plan to work. Hopefully, my human and the Alpha Female Thatcher would mate and we could get the sled back on solid ice. 

****    


	10. June Is A Very, Very Long Month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, Turnbull's theme song for this fic is "Row, Row, Row Your Boat".

**_The Consulate …_ ** 

Meg took a deep breath … and regretted it. Between the car exhaust and humidity, the air smelled horrible. She adjusted the maple leaf pin on her collar and tackled the consulate’s front steps. Turnbull sat at the desk in the foyer and since he wasn’t on sentry duty, Meg assumed Fraser had either gone to the Twenty-seventh Precinct or sat working at his desk down the hall.

As she debated which direction her junior officer had taken Meg met the wolf. He trotted out of the kitchen at the end of the hallway, tail lifted high and a doggy grin on his milk-white face. 

 _There’s the wolf. I wonder if Constable Fraser is still here?_ Meg wondered to herself. Where one trod, the other usually followed. She wondered sometimes who led whom. 

 _I need to corner Constable Fraser and finally have a word with him about the Secret Santa gifts,_ she thought with resignation. _Stupid RCMP regulations!_ For a moment she wondered if she could actually maintain discipline and not give Fraser preferential treatment at the same time. A million questions had assailed her as she tip-toed down that thought path. _One of us will either be transferred or promoted and what happens then? How would a relationship between us reflect on us as individuals? What happens if we were to marry, have children?_ It all made her head spin.    

 _Don’t get ahead of yourself. This little talk about the Secret Santa presents will dry up any notions he has about romance. And you do the same!_ She chided herself.   

“Good morning, Inspector Thatcher. Here is your correspondence, I saved you a strudel and there’s fresh coffee if you’d like some,” Turnbull rattled off as soon as she stepped close enough to be heard. 

“Thank you, Constable, strudel and coffee would be nice. And while you’re going that far, please ask Constable Fraser to report to my office. Thank you kindly.” Meg nodded, mentally steeling herself for this discussion. 

“Yes, Sir.” Turnbull began humming “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” as he turned on his heel and started toward the kitchen. 

 _How did he make it through training,_ Meg wondered as she opened her office door. An exquisitely wrapped box sat in the center of her desk. 

“Oh my,” she breathed. _I wonder what the present is this time?_ She set her briefcase and purse on one of the visitor’s chairs and approached the beautifully wrapped box. On top lay familiar card stock. 

**

Margaret,

 _You deserve somebody who inspires you toward greater things while loving you exactly as you are._ ~ Mark Anthony.  

My own words could never satisfactorily describe my ardor for you or how much I hope to see you fulfill all your dreams. 

In all earnestness, Benton.

**

Meg read the card twice, her left hand cradling her cheek as she savored the words.

“You wished to see me, Inspector?” Fraser’s voice pulled her away from the card and her gaze to his face. She rushed the few steps between then and threw her arms around his neck. 

“Finally! You signed the card as yourself. I knew you felt something for me. I KNEW it. Even though I ordered you to forget our, ah, our contact. I thought I’d driven you away.” Meg heard herself babbling but didn’t stop or care. 

“Pardon?” Fraser managed, shell-shocked.

“You signed the card as yourself, see?” Meg pulled away just far enough to show him the card stock. 

“You’re welcome, son.” Bob beamed from ear to ear as he stood beside Diefenbaker. Ben stared wide-eyed at him over Meg’s shoulder. 

“Go on, son, kiss her, kiss her,” Bob urged. 

“You did sign the card, didn’t you?” Meg stepped back. “You are the one who’s given me such wonderful, thoughtful presents, aren’t you?” Meg’s face melted from ebullient to confusion and horror. 

“Yes?” Ben said, his voice more than an octave higher than normal. 

“Then what’s wrong?” 

“Yes, Benton, what’s wrong? The wolf and I thought you’d be grateful for our help.” 

Ben began pulling at his tunic collar as he looked down into Meg’s bottomless brown eyes. They held such raw emotion, the kind of emotion they’d both been hiding for months.

“You surprised me, that’s all.” Ben smiled, partially relieved at the outcome of his father’s actions and hopeful at Meg’s reaction to the note. 

“What have you gotten me this time?” Meg took his hand and tugged Ben toward the desk where the large box sat unopened. 

“I made them myself. I hope you like them.” 

Meg quickly tore off the silver wrapping paper and slit the tape sealing the cardboard box underneath with a letter opener. She pulled the bubble wrap out and laid it aside to reveal the handmade, stained-glass bookends Ben had spent weeks designing and crafting. 

“Oh my! Ben, they’re beautiful. I love them.” She held the bookends close to her chest, fingering first one set and then another. “How did you know I loved all these books?” Meg turned back toward him. Tears lined the bottom of her dark eyes but she blinked them away. 

“You’ve spoken of a few of them and the rest simply reminded me of you. I’m pleased that you like the gift.” Ben squeezed her fingers gently. 

“Well, are you going to kiss her or not?” Bob Fraser urged with Diefenbaker yipping in agreement. 

“Like them? I love them. Thank you, Ben.” Meg felt Ben pull her hand up and place a soft kiss on her knuckles. It wasn’t like the untamed passionate kiss they’d shared atop the train, but Meg hoped it was the beginning of something lasting. 

“There you go, son. You finally got a leg over.” Bob grinned proudly. 

“My goodness!” were Turnbull’s last words before he crashed to the floor, strudel and coffee landing down the front of his tunic. 

“Such drama!” Meg shook her head as she leaned down, and with Fraser’s assistance, roused the young officer. 

 _I almost did the same thing when she threw her arms around me,_ Ben thought silently.  

“Oh dear. I think I need to have my head examined.” Turnbull and Meg both searched the room for the hearty laugh they heard at those words. Ben began coughing to cover for his father. 

“Why do you say that?” Meg asked, examining the younger officer’s tunic. 

“Sir, I thought I saw you and Constable Fraser in a passionate embrace.” Turnbull shook his head as if to clear it. 

Meg looked at Ben to see how he wanted to handle the situation. They both knew the consequences of their actions as laid out by the RCMP. 

“Constable Turnbull, you’re aware of the Secret Santa exchange this previous Christmas?” Ben began. Turnbull nodded. “I drew Inspector Thatcher’s name and have continued the exercise over the last several months. She was, ah, eager to thank me.”

“That is wonderful, sir. We should all take the spirit of Christmas into the rest of the year.” Turnbull shook Fraser’s hand before Meg dismissed him to get cleaned up. 

“The spirit of Christmas all year ‘round, eh?” Meg arched one brow as she looked at Fraser questioningly. 

“Ah, that wasn’t exactly my intent, but Constable Turnbull isn’t completely wrong.” Ben smiled shyly. 

“Somehow I think there’s more to this present and card than meets the eye.” Meg pursed her lips as she watched Benton squirm. “How about you tell me more about it over dinner?” she suggested. 

“That would be wonderful. Seven o’clock?” Ben gave a thousand-watt smile. 

“I’ll be waiting.” Meg melted into his touch as he gently cupped her cheek and pressed a kiss to the other. 

****    


	11. June Draws To An End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final

**_Seven O’clock …_ **

Ben took a deep breath as he smoothed his hair. He pulled on his collar with his left hand and tapped on Meg’s apartment door with the right. When the door flew open Meg caught him straightening his lanyard. 

_ My, she is beautiful, _ Ben thought as he met her eyes. 

“Fraser, come in, please.” Ben noted a faint blush on her cheeks as he passed her in the doorway. 

“I should have brought a gift, flowers or sparkling cider perhaps.” Ben began, fingering the buckle of his Stetson as he stood two feet inside the door. 

“You’ve given me enough gifts for a bit. Come inside and have a seat. I’m adding the finishing touches to dinner.” Meg pulled him by the sleeve and gestured toward her living room. 

Ben walked into the center of the living space that shouted MEG in every way, from the scent to the dark blue and white checkered sofa to the sheer, white curtains flanked by pearl gray drapes adorned with pleats. A floor to ceiling bookcase held a collection of photos, knick-knacks and books. 

“I see you didn’t bring your wolf.” Ben turned at her voice behind him in the doorway separating the living room from the eat-in kitchen.  

“Diefenbaker agreed to spend the evening with Constable Turnbull, to keep an eye on him.” He ambled from Meg’s bookcase toward the kitchen. 

“Who is keeping an eye on whom, I wonder?” Ben smiled at her teasing tone. He’d rarely gotten to hear it. 

“Diefenbaker is most definitely keeping an eye on Turnbull.” Ben watched as Meg fussed with a chicken stir fry in a large skillet. She glanced up at him. 

“I didn’t intend for you to see the mess I’ve made of the kitchen.” She indicated a cutting board of vegetables, spilled soy sauce and several small tumblers of spices. 

“May I be of help?” Ben offered. 

“Ah, set the table, if you don’t mind.” Meg directed him to the plates and water glasses in her cabinets. Less than five minutes later Ben had set the table and Meg had dished out the stir fry onto a bed of rice. As they sat down at her small kitchen table, linen napkins at the ready lest they embarrass themselves and spill something. Ben inwardly cringed at the silence between them as they ate. 

“The Secret Santa gifts you’ve given me are wonderful, Ben.” That brought his gaze up from his stir fry to her dark, shining eyes. She’d said his Christian name for the first time. 

“I’d suspected you were my Secret Santa for months but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.” She laid down her fork and leaned back to look at him. 

“A nome de plume made things easier for both of us,” Ben admitted.

“Damn regulations,” Meg lamented, her hand fisted on the tabletop. 

“Agreed.” Ben too laid down his flatware. 

“I get so tired of regulations.” Meg sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Perhaps our superiors would make an exception?” Ben suggested.  

“I don’t think it’s ever been tried. We’d have to petition.” Meg stood up and pulled a notepad from her junk drawer and a pen. “I have a few contacts who can discreetly check into precedence, tell us who to get in contact with.” She began scribbling down names, her dark eyes squinted. 

“Meg, before we go that far are you certain … about us?” He laid one hand over hers, halting her scribbling. Ben studied her intently, not a hint of the Mountie Mask to be found. She’d only seen him that open once or twice. How could she say no? How could she hurt him like that? 

“Yes, I am.” She shrugged as she twined her fingers with his. “You, Constable Benton Fraser, are worth the risk.” Meg smiled tenderly as she leaned forward to kiss him. Ben pulled her to her feet before wrapping his arms around her just as they had atop the train. 

“It will get harder before it gets any better. Even if the petition succeeds, we may not.” Ben couldn’t shake the dark memories that crossed his mind. He’d essentially given Victoria everything and she’d betrayed him, nearly destroyed him.  

“As I said, you are worth the risk,” Meg assured him, her arms tightening around his waist. 

“You’re risking far more than I am, Meg.” Ben frowned as he looked deep into her eyes. He had the impression during their fiasco with Clouthier that Meg had seemingly navigated a minefield to rise as she had to her position. Bad apples like Clouthier and Gerrard only made things harder on honest, respectable officers. 

“I appreciate your concern,  Ben, I truly do, but what good is a career if there’s no one to love, to share the ups and downs with?” Meg leaned up and placed a kiss to Ben’s cheek. The couple spent the rest of the evening talking, first about the petition and then sharing bits and pieces of their lives before Chicago. 

Well after dark Ben reluctantly rose to leave. Four o’clock came early and he still had to pick Diefenbaker up from Turnbull’s place. Meg walked him to the door, her arm threaded through his. 

“Goodnight, Meg. Sweet dreams,” Ben wished as he turned in the doorway to face her. He gently pushed aside a strand of hair from her forehead. 

“You as well, Ben,” she smiled, savoring his gentle touch. Her eyes closed, Meg felt Ben’s lips touch hers. When he pulled away, leaving her wrapped in a moment she never wanted to end, Meg smiled, knowing it would be the first of many such kisses. After Ben closed the door Meg leaned against it smiling. He’d given her the best present of all -- himself. 

THE END 


End file.
